


We Regret....

by CoruscantiScribbler



Category: Bob Molesworth, Kallus Hunt -- Star Wars Rebels Magazine -- Martin Fisher, Star Wars -- All Media Types, Star Wars -- Rebels, Thrawn -- Timothy Zahn
Genre: Also maybe a vocal recital or two, Canon-typical Slavery, Horses, M/M, Might be a few balls to attend, Music, PTSD, Social Stratification, Space-fascism, canon-typical genocide, canon-typical war, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29914020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoruscantiScribbler/pseuds/CoruscantiScribbler
Summary: What makes people embrace autocracy and dictatorship over democracy? And when is defending "the greater good" always going to lead to tragedy and horror?Follows Kallus as he finds it more and more difficult to silence the still small voice that wants him to question, to doubt.Kallus also struggles with imposter syndrome as he negotiates the whirlpools of Coruscant's high society. Tries to square his oath to root out corruption and treason while also needing to turn a blind eye to the elegant cesspool in which many of Coruscant's elites swim.He tries to protect his half brother while still staying true to what drove him to become an ISB agent in the first place -- to see justice done and peace restored to a shattered galaxy, political system and economy.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus & Darth Vader, Alexsandr Kallus & Grand Inquisitor, Alexsandr Kallus & Makten Tua, Alexsandr Kallus & Wullf Yularen, Alexsandr Kallus & Yogar Lyste, Alexsandr Kallus/Jovan, Alexsandr Kallus/Thrawn, Kallus/Garazeb
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

We Regret…

The Coruscanti Scribbler

Chapter One

The flimsiplast seemed to make a sad little sigh as it was folded, and shoved into an envelope, the flap pressed closed with the eight pointed seal of the Empire. Agent Alexsandr Kallus of the Imperial Security Bureau gave a growl of frustration as looked at the five names that still remained listed on his datapad, and the seventeen sealed envelopes stacked on the side of his desk. He yanked another sheet from the drawer and sat with his expensive fountain pen poised over the page.

  
The men had died when the rebels had deployed the very T-7 rifles they were meant to recover against the Imperial troops. That combined with the men he had lost on Kessel…. Kallus yanked his thoughts away from that particular worm hole, and returned his attention to his datapad.

  
The large blue eyes of the girl seemed to stare at him accusingly from the surface. Next to her image was the terse note — Fiancee, Carmody Jal. The thumbnail sized image above it was of a young man in Stormtrooper armor, helmet under his arm, a jaunty grin as he gave a thumbs up to the holographer. His teeth very white against his rich cocoa skin. Operating number ST-3357 and in smaller print below that Sig Walen. Kallus briefly wondered who had taken the holo, the girl or a proud parent?

  
Not for the first time that afternoon Kallus mentally cursed his old teacher and mentor, Colonel Wullf Yularen, head of the ISB, for his insistence that it was the duty of a CO to send handwritten condolences to the relatives of troopers who had fallen while under their command. It was Yularen who had presented Kallus with the pen upon his graduation from Royal Imperial and the conclusion of his ISB training. The pen he was even now supposed to be employing.

  
It wasn’t like Yularen would ever know if Kallus shirked the duty. Yularen rarely left the confines of ISB headquarters on Coruscant, and Kallus was currently dealing with an increase of rebel activity on this undistinguished planet out on the Outer Rim. And thank’s to that very rebel activity there were a great many more stormtrooper deaths to commiserate. Kallus sighed and scratched at his facial hair; there was no avoiding it, if he didn’t finish the task the guilt would lay like a bad taste on the back of his tongue, and he would see the disappointment in Yularen’s eyes anytime he closed his own.

  
With a sigh Kallus began to write,

  
_Dear Mistress Jal, it is with deep regret that I must write to inform you of the passing of your fiancé Sig Walen. Sig was a fine young man and a valued member of our security forces. I know it offers small comfort, but know that Sig gave his life securing the peace and ensuring safety for the citizens of our great Empire here on Lothal. His sacrifice will not be forgotten or go unnoticed._

_  
Except it already has,_ Kallus thought as he threw down the pen sending a gout of ink across the desk. Muttering curses he snatched tissues from a drawer and wiped up the spilled ink, grateful it hadn’t stained the letter he had finally completed.

  
His struggles hadn’t just been because he had written so many this morning, but because of one particular letter of condolence he had been avoiding writing for weeks. A condolence letter for one particular trooper who had died on Kessel. With a growl he pushed aside the memory of his boot connecting with a helmet. He placed Sig’s letter in the embossed envelope, pressed home the seal, then bundled all eighteen into the diplomatic pouch that would be sent to Coruscant. From there these missives of woe would be sent on to the various Imperial worlds that fed the insatiable maw of the Empire’s armed forces.

  
Deciding he needed to be fortified with a cup of caf before he tackled the last of the letters Kallus stood, dug his fists into the small of his back and arched backwards. _Empires and rebellions come and go,_ he thought, _paperwork is forever._ He paused briefly to glance out the large window behind his desk that offered a view of Capital City — really, did these provincials in the outer rim have to be quite so depressingly literal? — and the blue expanse of the sea around which the city had grown. The grasslands for which the planet was so famous were not in view and Kallus had a sudden desire to ride across them feeling the wind in his face, the surge of a horse’s shoulder muscles beneath his knees. Maybe later.

  
Leaving his office he moved through the halls of the Lothal Dome accepting the nods and salutes of passing officers and stormtroopers until he reached the mess. His nose wrinkled at the scent of the dinner being prepared. It was near the end of the cycle which meant they were running low on fresh supplies which meant the sergeant who ruled the kitchens was once again having the mess droids preparing his Chef Surprise which consisted of mixing together any ingredients that remained with noodles, lots of hot peppers and the dark pungent sauce favored by Twi’liks.

  
Kallus had been on Lothal long enough now to have tasted the Surprise once, and he was damn well not going to endure it again. Dinner in the city was clearly indicated. And perhaps it was time to consider requisitioning supplies from the good citizens of Lothal twice monthly? Kallus thought. After all, the troops garrisoned here were present for their protection. The least they could do was feed them decently.

  
Commandant Cumberlayne Aresko was seated at one of the long tables perusing his datapad and sipping a tea. Kallus helped himself to a cup of caf from the never empty carafe, tipped in enough milk to make it palatable and joined Aresko.

  
“Agent Kallus.”

  
“Commandant.”

  
“Pity about those T-7 ion disruptor rifles. It would have made a nice edition to the manufacturing base of the planet.

  
Kallus choked on his caf. _The blood had literally boiled in their veins bursting through the skin and fur…._ Kallus pushed aside the memory of how that blood had sheeted across the leatheris of his ISB gloves, spattered on the exposed skin of his face, tasted on his lips. It was the only time he had ever envied the enclosed helmets of the troopers over his open face ISB helmet.

  
Aresko was continuing. “I know Governor Pryce is quite concerned about the level of unemployment, particularly in the cities.” Aresko gave a nervous sniff and slurped a sip of tea.

  
Kallus buried the gut deep ache…guilt? by turning his attention and ire to the absentee governor of the planet.

  
“If the governor is so concerned about the economic prospects of the planet she governs perhaps she could return and give Minister Tua the benefit of her expertise,” Kallus drawled.

  
He watched Aresko’s Adam’s apple bob in his scrawny neck before the older man nervously muttered, “Well, I'm certain the governor is advocating most effectively for Lothal back on Coruscant.”

  
Kallus struggled not to roll his eyes, and instead gave a hum that could be interpreted in whatever way Aresko wished. What Kallus knew was that Pryce was advocating very effectively for _herself_ at the capital. A whiff of corruption clung like a miasma to her petite body, but it had not yet risen to a level that would arouse the interest of the ISB. The fact she also had ingratiated herself into the circle of Coruscant’s most powerful might also have something to do with ISB’s lack of interest. Kallus was proud of the organization to which he belonged, but he had spent part of his youth among the Imperial elites and he was no fool about how some people were more equal before the law than others.

  
Draining the last of his caf Kallus rose and gazed down at Aresko for long enough that the other man reached for the high collar of his tunic. Smirking a bit Kallus gave the commandant a nod. He took a few steps, then paused and looked back.

  
“Oh, Cumberlayne, I noticed you have not yet sent a notice of death to the family of Trooper ST-2757.” Aresko’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. “The trooper who was so unlucky as to catch a grenade tossed to him by the rebel Jedi. According to his file he sent much of his pay home to his elderly parents on Talus. I’m certain they would be most grateful to be notified and equally grateful to receive the death benefit due to them.”

  
Kallus figured he shouldn’t be the only commander suffering the almost daily reminder of the bodies being fed into the meat grinder that kept the Empire secure.

  
“Oh, yes, of course, slipped my mind. I’m much more focused on training up the next generation to serve our glorious Emperor.”

  
“Quite proper, but please do try to keep it fixed in your mind now,” Kallus said gently and started to walk away only to hear Aresko mutter somewhat resentfully,

  
“I suppose you know all their names too.”

  
_Not since Onderon,_ Kallus thought as he left the mess.

*****

  
The final letters, save one, were written. His weekly report, completed and loaded onto a data-card for delivery to ISB headquarters, had joined the letters in the pouch, and said pouch was handed off to a navel attache to be delivered to the Relentless for delivery back to fleet headquarters on Coruscant.

  
An involuntary sneer lifted Kallus’ lip as he contemplated how rather than send off the pouch with a lieutenant in a shuttle, Konstantine would use it as an excuse to return with his flagship to the capital. Kallus knew the admiral had a family, and that his lady had presented him with no fewer than eight tokens of her affection and devotion, but great gods there were brothels on Lothal. The absence of the Relentless left only Kallus own star destroyer the Lawbringer to remind the good citizens of Lothal of their Emperor’s attention to their safety and wellbeing protecting them from pirates, smugglers and rebels.

  
Kallus sighed, personally he’d love a chance to return home even for a few days. To eat at a decent restaurant with a wine list that was more elaborate than house: red, house: white, see friends, visit his masseuse, and have Sandro cut his hair and trim his chops and see the family though he suspected the Moff might be making his quarterly visit to Tangenine. Which left only his half brother and the shell that was all that remained of his mother.

  
He gave a firm head shake that irritatingly dislodged a lock of hair. No, down that path lay only pain overlaid by the rage that had lived like a burning coal deep in his chest.

  
Violent beings had taken his father. Murdered his unit on Onderon. Stolen away any vestige of the bright, vivacious woman who had passed in and out of his life like a glittering comet. His mother still sang, but with the brain injury it was garbled gibberish that danced on the notes. Alana Undan was gone. To his credit Moff Urso Undan kept her at the palatial home on Coruscant with round-the-clock care by droids and Twi’lik servants. He had not set her aside and or sent her to a nursing facility and left it to her first born child to pay for her care.

  
_I guess he really did love her. Probably more than she loved him,_ Kallus thought. Come to think of it that seemed to be the truth about _all_ the men in her life, including his own father, was the wry follow on thought.

  
As if these thoughts have family had summoned a relative Kallus’ comlink indicated an incoming message. When he saw the identity number a smile replaced his previously melancholy expression. Kallus keyed on the com and the holo of his half brother, Severin, sprang to life in the center of his desk.

  
Thirteen years his junior Severin took after the Moff more than his mother. Brown haired, a bit stocky. The only thing she had bequeathed to him were her aquamarine eyes. Kallus had her slender frame elongated to 1.95 meters, her strawberry blond hair but his father’s amber brown eyes.

  
“Hello mighty defender of peace, justice and the Imperial way,” his half brother caroled. “How’s life in the ass-end-of-nowhere?”

  
“About how you’d expect. And how’s life at the university?”

  
“Booorig. In other words — about how you’d expect.” He gave that imp’s grin that always made’s Kallus here squeeze a bit with love for the younger man even as he faintly resented how that grin had always managed to get Severin out of trouble. “Under the heading of way more interesting, I made you a lot of credits yesterday.”

 _ _  
__ “Oh gods, please tell me Urso backstopped you on whatever it was you did,” Kallus teased.

  
“I’ll have you know that father says I have a real flair for money management.”

  
“Well you better since you’ll be taking over the investment company… that holds my money.” Severin laughed and Kallus joined in with a deep chuckle.

  
“Are you coming home for Ascension Week and Empire Day?”

  
“I’m afraid not. The situation on Lothal is worse than had been reported, and the celebrations surrounding Empire Day always offer an opportunity for these rebels to try some pathetic grasp for relevance.”

  
“There’s the sneer. Well, I suppose if you’re sneering and not glaring things can’t be too bad,” Severin laughed again. “Father will be disappointed. He was hoping to introduce you to Baron Drukker’s daughter.”

  
Kallus was grateful for his ISB training that kept any reaction from showing.

  
Curiosity did get the better of him and he asked, “Which one?”

  
“Devonia.”

  
Mentally ticking through the Daughter’s Drukker he identified Devonia as the fourth girl in the brood. Even though he had precisely zero interest in marriage it did cause a brief ache in the gut. The lady’s placement in the birth lottery said less about her, and a great deal more about Kallus’ social position as stepson.

  
He supposed at some point he would have no choice but to marry and do his duty to the Empire by siring a passel of children who would in turn do their duty in service to the Empire, but he wanted to postpone that fate for as long as possible. While homosexuality wasn’t illegal it was frowned upon in a galaxy where there was a plethora of alien races and only one humanity. So every human was expected to do their part and breed, no matter their proclivities. Especially in the class into which Kallus had found himself thrust after his mother remarried.

  
“I’ll just have to postpone the pleasure of making the lady’s acquaintance,” he finally said.

  
“Gods, you really are wasted in the military. You would have made a decent diplomat,” his younger brother said.

  
“And accomplished absolutely nothing. I do make a difference, Severin.”

  
“I know you do. And you got them, I just wish….” His voice trailed away and for the briefest instant Kallus was able to see the grief and anger beneath the cheerful mien that Severin usually maintained.

  
“They were brought to justice, Sev,” Kallus said softly. “I made quite certain of that.”

  
“I know. But it wasn’t enough. I want them all… all the rebels to burn..”

  
“They will. I will see to it.”

  
The hologram vanished and Kallus swept his fingers where the image had been projected as if he could smooth the younger man’s curls. Even obliquely mentioning what had happened to Alana had overcome Severin’s control. Sometimes Kallus wondered if he really did lack the normal human emotions. While he grieved for the mother they both shared he had not been as deeply affected as his half brother.

  
Perhaps it was due to the fact that he had been allowed to bring the perpetrators to justice, and thus found some closure. In what had been a flagrant contravention of ISB regulations, Colonel Yularen had waved those aside saying, while his mustache twitched furiously, that it was entirely appropriate for the son to take the lead in investigation, and that Kallus would certainly be motivated to find the parties responsible.

  
While Severin, only eleven at the time, had been left with only grief and a presence in the house who looked like his mother, but with all the personality, vivacity and love excised.

  
_Almost the same age as myself when I lost dad,_ Kallus thought.

  
In his defense he hadn’t actually known Alana in the same way Severin knew her. During Kallus’ childhood she had been touring most of the time with only infrequent visits to the home on Coruscant. The money she earned kept Kallus enrolled in a fine private school where he formed friendships with Coruscant’s elite. What he hadn’t known was that those credits had not been sufficient, and more importantly the Kallus’ had lacked the status for him to be enrolled. He had been ten when he overheard his parents talking late at night and realized that the man who shared Alana’s affections and her body was the reason that status had been bestowed on him and the funds provided.

  
_“He’s bright, studious he’d excel no matter where he went to school. Highlands is a very good technical —“_ Timur Kallus had begun only to be interrupted by his wife.

  
_“It’s because he’s so bright and handsome he deserves better. At Manarai he’ll make connections that could open doors for him. Far better doors than we can offer him. You know I love you first and best and always, but I’m doing this for Alex. We’re both doing this —"_

  
_“For Alex.”_

  
Over two decades later Kallus could still remember how those two words had been carried on a deep regretful and melancholy sigh. And even now it brought a surge of guilt.

  
Timur Kallus had never given even the smallest hint that he blamed his son for his wife’s infidelity, or even Alana herself. Instead he constantly told Alex the story of how he had hung about the stage door hoping to meet the vivacious soprano. How he had won her heart and made her his wife. Alana might have been the center of Timur’s world, but that beating center for Kallus had been his father, chief engineer of the central power distribution grid. Dressed in the garish orange and blue uniform and helmet he had somehow managed to fix Alex breakfast, drop him off at school, attend his sporting events, be there to say goodnight all while keeping the lights on for the city-planet.

  
And then Separatist droids had killed him.

  
And Alana had married her lover.

  
And five months later Severin was born.

  
Kallus always wondered if his father would have accepted the boy as his own. Probably: His love for his flighty, charming, flirtatious wife had been without measure. Timur had been a good man, he would have loved and raised the boy as his own.

  
Just as Urso had done for Timur’s son.

  
The Moff had formally adopted Alex, but Kallus — then thirteen and ridged with suppressed grief and anger — at the Separatists, at the Jedi for failing to stop the attack, at the Republic, at his mother for not being there — had demanded that he be allowed to keep his father’s name. It had helped a little, but he was still that singer’s son, and he’d had to endure the whispers of society behind their gloved hands and elegant fans. Urso might have wed his sweet singing pylat, but among the Corusanti elite she would never be anythi _ _ng but a whore.__

 _ _  
__ It had given Kallus no end of pleasure the first time he walked into a ballroom wearing his ISB uniform. There had been no whispers _that_ night. Or any subsequent night. Such was the power of the Imperial Security Bureau.

  
Kallus scrubbed wearily at his face. He sincerely hoped that he would never in his life love someone to the point of distraction the way Timur had loved his mother. Better… safer to keep a cynic’s attitude where love was concerned.

  
He glanced again at his datapad and that final name. Felt again his boot strike a helmet. He almost flung himself out of his chair. He needed activity, to move… to outrun memory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallus tries to outrun the demons riding on his shoulders

Chapter Two

He slowed his steps when he actually stepped into the hallway hoping…. But hope died aborning — Minister Maketh Tua, whose office was directly across from his, had heard the whoosh of his opening door and she popped out of her office like a veritable jack-in-the-box to intercept him.

“Agent Kallus.” How the woman could manage to simper when just saying his name was a mystery. One he had no desire to explore or solve.

“Minister.”

“Glad to see you breaking off early for a change. You work much too hard, Agent.”

“One spares no effort in service of our glorious Empire,” he replied and had to struggle not to roll his eyes, sweet space, he sounded like a bombastic fool, but Tua just gazed up at him with admiration.

“Well then perhaps —“

“However, I am not ending the work day,” he hastened to add. “I’m investigating a report of rebel activity outside of the city.” He began walking away.

“Well perhaps another time we can dine together.”

“I look forward to it, Minister.”

“I do hope you are taking a squad with you, Agent. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you,” she called after him her voice like treacle.

“That would rather undercut my effort to make a surreptitious reconnaissance,” he said dryly, and then he was mercifully around the corner and could make his escape.

He paused briefly at the mess and slipped into the kitchen. A server droid beeped at him in binary managing to convey both weariness and frustration at his theft as he quickly gathered up a couple of jogan fruit.

Checking out a speeder bike he tucked the jogan into the saddle bag on the side, strapped his combat helmet and bo-rifle on the back and wove quickly through the city streets dodging trucks filled with produce heading to warehouses or to the market area where gawking rubes shopped the open air stalls. Why these outer rim worlds couldn’t build a decent grocers or a shopping tower was beyond him. Once he reached the edge of the city he opened the throttle on the bike reveling in the wind whipping his hair from its careful style.

Thirty kilometers inland from the city the grey stone walls of a country estate began to bulk before him. It had been built by the former governor of Lothal, Ryder Azadi, and immediately seized and remodeled by the current governor. Since Pryce was never _on_ the planet Kallus had never been inside. He just knew an army of workman had been crawling over the building, and various luxury items — chandeliers, wood flooring for a ballroom, expensive carpets, fine furnishings — had been imported from core worlds as Pryce attempted to ape the actual elite and the aristocracy of the core worlds.

A group of Bith looked up from where they were kneeling in the grass. When they spotted his uniform they quickly dropped their gaze back to their task which Kallus realized was _trimming the kriffing grass with hand scissors_. And then he realized why; since his last trip out to the estate a croquet court had been built and was now being maintained by the slender, domed headed aliens. What next? Will she decide to set up an archery range? Or build a folly in the form of a Jedi temple? Frankly, Kallus couldn’t care less about attending what would pass for a house party or a formal ball on this backwater, and should Pryce actually return to the world of which she was the titular governor it would just make his job that much more difficult if he had to pretend to report to her.

No, what drew Kallus to the place was the stable. Pryce had imported not only Guarlaras from Naboo, and a Fathier, but several equus from Dathomir. As a boy he had seen horses being ridden in the Imperial Park on his way to and from school, but it wasn’t until Urso became his stepfather that he actually learned to ride at the moff’s summer home on Naboo. He had loved it. The animals couldn’t match the speed of a bike, but that feeling of being one with another living creature filled him with a joy he struggled to explain.

He pulled into the stable yard, the sound of the engine drawing Horse Master Toliver to meet him. He was short, bandy legged and had started as a stable boy on Canto Bight, learned to ride, and had been a hugely successful Fathier jockey until a career ending injury in a stakes race had forced him into retirement. His and Kallus’ first meeting had not been propitious. The moment Toliver heard Kallus’ upper class Corusanti accent he had stiffened, and allowed his Wild Space drawl to become even more pronounced. Kallus had actually worn riding apparel that first day, and the look Toliver had bestowed on him was withering.

Kallus had been wearing tall black patent leather boots with diamond studs set on the high cuff that arched over the side of his knee and a glittering belt. Toliver had let out a loud snort followed by an eye roll. Kallus had curtly informed the man that he was the SAC for this sector and he had come to ride. He then strode into the barn and began inspecting prospective mounts. Toliver had immediately assumed an obsequiousness so cringing it was insulting, and hurried to bring out the gleaming white stallion. When Kallus had waved him off from tacking up the animal, Toliver had given him a sharp look, but allowed him to proceed. As Kallus saddled the horse he had a pretty good sense of just what Toliver had had in mind, and he had to hide a smirk. He loved smashing expectations.

As he predicted the stallion had the attitude of a rancor in heat and immediately took off bucking the moment Kallus’ ass hit the saddle. He rode through it, then immediately began putting the horse through his paces, canter half pass, flying lead changes, pirouette. After a few minutes Toliver had come into the center of the arena and began to coach him. He proved to be a very good teacher.

“So how’s the bloody Coruscanti Prince today?” Toliver asked interrupting Kallus’ reverie.

“Tolerably well,” Kallus replied.

Toliver gave him a searching look. “I’m bettin’ you don’t want an equitation lesson today.”

“No, I need a good gallop. Shake out the cobwebs.”

“Cobwebs my ass, yer pissed. Can see it in the curl of that lip. But I’m sure Broha will welcome the chance throw yer entitled ass into the dirt.”

“I’m sure he’ll enjoy _trying_.”

They worked together in companionable silence grooming the horse. Kallus pressed his cheek against the stallion’s neck and breathed in the scent of hay, dust and horse. Broha turned his head so that he was almost hugging the human in the curve of his neck. Kallus held out an imperious hand and Toliver placed the bridle with its jeweled browband into his palm.

The tack up was quickly completed and Kallus swung into the saddle. Broha began to piaffe sensing Kallus’ own impatience. Toliver laid a hand on his boot and looked up into Kallus’ face.

“Ya know, lad, however fast you ride .…” his eyes drifted to the speeder bike. “Whether on this fine equus or on that durasteel monstrosity or an ISD — you can’t outrun the demon if it’s sittin’ on your shoulders.”

“How very Jedi of you,” Kallus sneered. He closed his lower leg on the horse and Broja leaped into a gallop.

The tall grass of Lothal hissed against the stallion’s legs. The thrust and surge of Broha’s hindquarters and the swing of his shoulders soon had the tension in Kallus’ sore back releasing. The horse’s mobile ears flicked back toward him when his rider let out a joyful laugh. A group of Loth-cats suddenly erupted out of the grass fleeing the horse’s pounding hooves. Broha leaped high into the air, hind legs kicking out behind him in a perfect air above the ground. The leap was so smooth that Kallus barely swayed in the saddle.

After they landed he leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck. “Wish kriffing Kanan Jarrus had been standing behind you for that little maneuver.”

Kallus allowed Broha to decide when he’d run enough, and honestly, thoughts about the Jedi had soured his mood again. The horse slowed to a canter and then to a trot. They were heading for a large outcropping of Lothal’s oddly shaped rock formations, and it brought back memories of his last run-in with the rebels when the Jedi’s fucking padawan had thrown him into one of those fang-like rocks with his force powers (his back still hurt from that little encounter), and kept him from killing the Lasat.

There was a small spring within the circle of the rocks. Broha slowed to walk and Kallus halted him and slid out of the saddle. The stallion drank, then lifted his head, water slobbering from his mobile lips and nuzzled Kallus’ gloved hands. Pulling the reins over the horse’s head and keeping a light grip, Kallus allowed him to graze while he sat on the ground, back against the sun-warmed stone, and frowned off into the distance.

He had chosen to fight the Lasat himself trusting to the troopers and the walkers to handle the others. He’d begun by goading the creature into a rage first by unlimbering the bo-rifle, the elite weapon of the Lasat Honor Guard. It wasn’t easy for a human to master the bo-rifle. The Lasat were larger, taller and stronger than humans so the weapon was heavy and ungainly in human hands, but Kallus had trained until the weapon was like an extension of himself. It was a bo-rifle that had killed his unit on Onderon. He was going to repay the favor to any Lasat he might happen to run across, and do it using one of their own weapons.

And indeed he had almost succeeded. The moment he had seen the outrage twisting that alien visage and heard the deep bass growl of fury _“Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!”_ Kallus had known how to beat the Lasat. Hot rage made men stupid. The cold, calculating rage that fueled Kallus in every fight made him dangerous, made him the most dangerous foe his enemies would ever face. To goad the Lasat he had lied about the origins of his weapon. Lied that he had given the order to use the T-7 rifles. And it had worked. The Lasat’s technique became sloppy, and Kallus had reveled each time the electricity arced through that huge body until at last Orrelios was on his knees before him.

Kallus had a sudden sharp memory of the expression in Orrelios’ eyes as he had knelt, defeated, before him. The devastation, the guilt in the green eyes was that of a man who had lost _everything_ and failed _everyone_.

Very different from the expression on the face of the monster who had killed Kallus’ unit, including the wounded. The explosion on Onderon had left Kallus trapped beneath a collapsed duracrete wall. He had regained consciousness only to find himself in a nightmare that endured to this day, hearing the cries of pain that soon turned to screams of agony as the electricity from the Lasat’s bo-rifle ripped through their bodies or his claws tore their flesh. Panicked voices sobbing for mercy that was not to be granted.

_Jelali — he had been a short timer. A human veteran of the Clone Wars he was only a few weeks from retirement and a return to a husband on Dantooine._

_Rascar — out of the slums of Coruscant but very bright. He had applied to be trained as a technician. Kallus had written a letter of recommendation for him._

_Danika — he had attended her wedding to a navy ensign._

_Selim — of the soaring tenor voice. He often sang on patrol while Kallus surreptitiously hummed along. As a young agent on his first field command dignity required that he not actually join in._

_Borsa — the squad called him The Professor. Kallus with his education knew it wasn’t a joke. Clearly something had driven the man out of academia to hump a blast rife as a simple trooper._

_Egon — he told bad jokes, actually terrible jokes but everyone laughed because he enjoyed them so and had the most infectious laugh._

_Kalab — he had belonged to some obscure religious sect, prayed for his comrades, prayed for the dead whether friend or foe. Kallus couldn’t understand why he had enlisted. Kalab had gestured at a group of school children and their teacher, an old woman walking her Aak dog. “It is my honor to place my body between them and those who would harm them.”_

And then it had been his turn. Kallus had lost his helmet in the blast and the Lasat had squatted down next to him and combed his claws through his hair while silent tears flowed. _“Oooh, pretty,”_ he had crooned his smirk indicating his true feelings. _“The little commander.”_ (Ironic considering that Kallus was very tall for a human but next to the massive Lasat he had seemed a child.) _“Gonna get some demerits for this one... if I let ya live.”_

The rebel had then proceeded to casually discuss whether to remove Kallus’ eyes, or carve out his still beating heart and show it to him before it was crushed like an overripe meiloorun. Kallus had been mute with terror. Those massive claws had just began to dig into his chest when the scream of Tie fighters overhead, matching Kallus’ own screams, had forced the Lasat to withdraw.

He had never again allowed himself to become so close to the troops he commanded. Instead he had settled for earning their respect. The choice for most Imperial officers was to bravely lead from behind. Kallus chose to fight alongside them, to use his skills and training to protect as many of them as he could without ever knowing their secret hearts.

_Until you didn’t._

Kallus sighed, leaned forward and rested his forehead on his knees trying to suppress the guilt that filled his stomach, and the prickling in his eyes. It was Kanan Jarrus deflecting his blaster bolts that caused him to….

_“First Jedi you’ve ever seen, sir?”_

Why hadn’t he allowed that trooper to climb back up onto the bridge on Kessel? Why had he kicked him loose as he edged his way up the column where Kallus was also clinging for dear life? Kallus had replayed his self-justifying arguments over many nights — the structure had been weakened by the dog fight between the Ties and the rebel ship and then his own blaster fire. The entire bridge might have collapsed with their combined weights and movement as they tried to reach the bridge. He’d also told himself that in the brutal terms of cost/benefit analysis the life of a fully trained captain in the ISB was worth far more than a mere stormtrooper’s.

But when he stripped away all the logical arguments the only thing left to explain why he had sent a man falling to his death was uncontrolled emotion, a toxic melange of fear and fury. The cold rage had been ignited on a cold Coruscant night when the authorities had awakened a sleeping twelve-year-old to tell him his father was dead. It had been fanned to an even more destructive level on Onderon, and finally when indiscriminate blaster fire had bounced off the mirrored walls of a third rate opera house on Corellia and stolen his mother as well it had settled into a weapon he could call upon to destroy everyone and everything around him who might threaten the fragile peace forged by the Empire that held back the monsters.

Kallus had used the goad of that hidden rage to become one of the most effective ISB agents in the organization. He had rolled up no fewer than five rebel cells on five different worlds. He had eradicated smuggling rings and pirate forces who preyed on the decent, worthy citizens of the galaxy.

And it could all have been lost if that trooper had talked about what he had witnessed. Bad enough to have to report back to headquarters that a Jedi had survived and was training an apprentice. Worse, far worse for his superiors to learn of his humiliation at the hands of the Jedi, knocked ass over tit by his own blaster bolt.

Tension raced through his body causing his back to once again seize up in pain. Not that it made any difference now. He’d been defeated again by a child throwing him like a rag doll with a power he both could not understand and deeply resented. Kallus believed passionately in the cause of the Empire, to bring peace, order and justice to a galaxy torn and battered by war, he knew that in pursuit of those worthy goals the Empire was not all forgiving of failure. And thus far he had been doing nothing but fail.

And that trooper had paid the ultimate price for Kallus’ failure.

All he could hope was that having the specialized help of an Inquisitor would result in the quick elimination of both the rebel threat on Lothal and the threat of the Jedi. Perhaps then he would be able to pen that letter of condolence without almost choking on his own guilt. The velvet touch of a muzzle nuzzled along his ear and Broha whuffled softly as if asking if he were alright. Kallus reached up and stroked the horse’s head, scratching behind the mobile ears. The shadows thrown by the rocks were lengthening. It was time to return.

**Author's Note:**

> I became obsessed with how the deaths of Stormtroopers and other Imperials are treated in Star Wars, and in Rebels in particular. In the Clone Wars animated series the life and deaths of the clone troopers were treated with sensitivity and dignity, but that hasn't been the case for the troopers in the later show and movies who we know are average humans, many of who no doubt signed up just to get "three hots and a cot" after the devastation of the Clone Wars.


End file.
